


At Least Five Things Arthur Wishes He Could Forget About Morgana

by pepperlandgirl4



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-11
Updated: 2016-10-11
Packaged: 2018-08-21 20:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8260009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pepperlandgirl4/pseuds/pepperlandgirl4
Summary: "Will you always love me? Do you promise?" "Yes."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set after 3.12, but no spoilers for the series. Vaguely Arthur/Morgana but not really.

5\. 

Morgana beat him. She never beat him, yet there she was, standing by her horse and laughing at him, the sound an expression of pure joy. Even the horse seems to be laughing at him, neighing and shaking her long mane while Morgana pet her neck. Arthur scowled at her, made some noises about a snake startling his horse, and the trail wasn’t even, and she’d cheated anyway by taking off before he was fully seated. The more he talked, the more she laughed, until he was sputtering in rage and she couldn’t even choke a word out. 

“Don’t make excuses, Arthur. You sound like a little boy.” 

Arthur was _not_ a little boy, thank you very much. He’d already been training with the knights for a full year, and Uther promised him he would be allowed to ride into the next battle. But she made him feel small, like he was so much younger than his twelve years. 

“And don’t sulk. This isn’t the worse thing that’ll ever happen to you.” 

It was. Morgana beating him was just about the worst thing he could conceive of, and her laughter was just salt grinding into the wound. They told Uther they wished to take lunch outdoors that day, so Arthur dutifully spread the blanket and unpacked the food from their saddle bags and whined about how they should have brought at least two servants. 

“We don’t need servants for everything. Besides, this is a secret.” 

Arthur sighed. “Father would be furious if he ever found out about this.” 

“Then don’t tell him.” 

“What if he asks me?” 

“Then tell him we come out to eat, and I gather wild flowers, and you hunt rabbits like the wretched bully you are, and he’ll never be the wiser.” 

“But if you were supposed to do things like this, Father wouldn’t have forbidden it, surely.” 

“Arthur, when are you going to learn that Uther is not right about everything?” 

Arthur gaped at her and Morgana belatedly realized what she said. Her hand flew to her mouth and all her bravado disappeared. Red slashed across her pale cheeks, and Arthur forgot to be irritated when he realized the strange light in her eyes was fear. Nobody is supposed to speak that way about Uther, ever. And if they do, Arthur knows it’s his duty to make sure it never happens again. In her flighty, silly way, Morgana had just committed treason and they both know it. 

“It’s all right, Morgana.” 

“I’m sorry,” she started. 

“No, it’s all right.” Arthur smiled to reassure her. She studied him for a moment before her fear melted and her smile returned. Arthur couldn’t be like this with anybody else. She smiled like she loved him, and sometimes he supposed she must. 

4\. 

Arthur had never seen Uther so furious in his eleven years. At least, he’d never been on the receiving end of this type of fury. This red-faced rage was usually reserved for sorcerers and their ilk, not for _the prince_. Morgana kept her head down, silent for now, but Arthur could tell she wouldn’t be biting her tongue for long. Her hands were clenched in tight fists, and when she did look up, her eyes flashed with emotion that matched Uther’s temper. 

Arthur didn’t even try to defend himself. He was entirely innocent of the crime, but if he said as much, Morgana would be the next obvious culprit, and he wasn’t going to do that to her. She hadn’t meant any harm by it, and besides, Arthur could take Uther’s punishment. Morgana was just a girl. She needed to be protected. 

“Now you will return Lady Myrtle’s hand mirror right away, as well as apologize for your rude and appalling behavior.” 

Arthur swallowed, unsure what to do about the sudden, large hole in his plan. Hand mirror? He didn’t know anything about a hand mirror. In his surprise, his attention darted to Morgana, but she wasn’t looking at him. Uther, however, watched him like a hawk, and he didn’t miss the question in Arthur’s gaze. 

“Morgana! Do you have the mirror?” 

Both Arthur and Morgana shifted uncomfortably, and Arthur studied the ground between his feet. This wasn’t the first time they’d conspired together, but this was the first time the conspiracy was discovered. Did he still need to protect her? Or would that annoy her? It was distressingly difficult to tell with Morgana. He understood how he needed to treat the other ladies in the court, as well as the servants and peasants. But Morgana occupied a space Arthur didn’t understand, and she sneered at all of his better impulses until he was resolved never to do another kind thing for her. 

But he couldn’t let her hang on her own. 

“I took the mirror, Father.” 

Uther rounded on him again, and in the end sent Arthur to his chambers, warning him not to leave his apartment until Uther sent word for him. Arthur almost died from the injustice. He was supposed to go hunting with Sir Kay and Sir Bors. The trip had been planned for weeks, ever since they received word that Bors and his wife, Myrtle, would be journeying to Camelot. Arthur had never gone on a hunt without his father, and he’d been _living_ for it. 

When Morgana joined him an hour later, she didn’t even have the good grace to thank him for his sacrifice. 

“What was _that_?” She spat, looking like a wet cat. “I don’t need you to protect me, Arthur Pendragon. I can take care of myself.” 

“Why did you take the mirror?” 

“I just wanted to admire it in my own room.” 

“Morgana!” 

“Oh, I returned it. I slipped it between her dresses, so she would think she just misplaced it.” 

“I hope you’re happy. Now I can’t go hunting, and if you tell him the truth, I’ll just get in more trouble for helping you.” 

“Nobody asked you to help me.” 

“You’re not as brave as you think you are, Morgana.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“It means if you had any courage at all, you would tell Father the truth and ask for his forgiveness.” 

Morgana huffed out of the room, her skirt swishing behind her with an air of dismissal. 

An hour later, Uther sent for Arthur and told him to prepare for his hunt. 

The incident of Myrtle’s missing silver mirror was never brought up again. 

3\. 

Arthur kissed her when he was fifteen and everything felt like it was changing. He trained with the knights more than ever before, up to six hours a day, and he led every hunt that left Camelot. He’d killed a man in combat, and he couldn’t talk about that, or the fact that he could beat men twice his age with a sword. Everybody looked at him differently, especially the maids and the ladies of the court. They were more speculative when they gazed at him, and he knew they’d noticed his muscles and his last growth spurt. His legs hurt all the time, he got aroused at the most inconvenient times, and he had these _dreams_. 

Some of them are about Morgana. 

Most of them. 

Arthur didn’t _like_ it. He certainly never asked for those types of dreams. She was practically his sister, and he didn’t think her hair smelled like a bouquet of flowers, or that her skin was the softest thing he’d ever touched, or that she was fascinating in every way. Were women always so strange and interesting? Perhaps every maidservant in Camelot had her secrets, and he never noticed because they only moved in the background of his life. Perhaps if he spent more time with Guinevere, for example, he’d be caught up in fascination with the way her hair curled and how her eyes always seemed to catch the light. But he didn’t spend more time with Guinevere, and he barely registered her as a person, much less a girl. 

They were sparring by the river—an increasingly dangerous activity that would probably have to come to an end soon---and she beat him. In the rush of adrenaline, outrage, hormones, confusion, and _hunger_ , kissing her seemed to make the most sense. He took her by the shoulder and pulled her against him, claiming her mouth in a clumsy, awkward attempt that should have been aborted within seconds. Except she kissed him back, tongue dueling with his, lips hard and soft at the same time. 

Arthur realized too late that it was a competition. And he was losing. He broke away first, gasping for breath and _so fucking hard_ he feared for the state of his health. 

“Don’t try that again until you know what you’re doing,” Morgana said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. 

Arthur didn’t kiss another girl until he was twenty years old. 

2\. 

“I hate her.” 

“You mustn’t talk like that, sire.” 

Arthur folded his arms defiantly. “I’m the prince, I’ll speak anyway I like. And I _do_ hate her.” 

“Why do you hate her?” 

“She’s stolen my room, my best puppy, and Father says that I must treat her like my sister. I don’t want a sister. I want a brother. Why can’t Owain be my brother?” 

Gaius sighed. “Arthur, I know it’s difficult to adjust to change so quickly. But you must be kind to Morgana.” 

“Why?” 

“She’s lost both her mother and her father,” Gaius said gently. “If she didn’t have the king and yourself, she would be completely alone in the world.” 

“She would still have her servants.” 

“Arthur, I’m surprised at you. You know that’s not the same. Morgana needs family right now. What if you were sent to live in a strange castle with people you barely knew? Wouldn’t you want somebody to show you kindness?” 

“But she’s a girl,” Arthur whined, kicking his legs against the table he sat on. Gaius sent him a disapproving look that said _stop making my bottles shake_ but Arthur only kicked harder, taking pleasure in the tinkle of the glass. 

“Some of the best people are, sire.” 

“She probably can’t ride or fight or anything good.” 

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she was at least as skilled as you, Arthur. Gorlois loved her very much. As much as a son. I should think she’s very comfortable riding and fighting.” 

“Then she isn’t a very good girl, is she?” 

“Perhaps you should wait to judge her until you meet her.” 

“When will that be?” 

“Soon. She’ll be arriving this afternoon.” 

Soon turned out to be that evening. She was a wretched little thing. She didn’t _look_ wretched. In fact, she looked a great deal like a princess in her perfect little dress, with her gleaming hair hanging in loose curls down her back. She bowed her head and curtsied when they were introduced and then, for no reason Arthur could discern, she stomped on his foot. Arthur’s little body immediately filled with indignant rage, and he pushed her right down to the ground. 

“Arthur!” 

“She started it! She stomped my foot.” 

The wretched little thing started to cry. With blue eyes swimming in tears, she explained it was an accident, and she was ever so sorry, and Uther cooed at her and told her it was perfectly all right. 

“You’re a little beast, aren’t you?” Morgana whispered at dinner. 

“Shut up.” 

“You can’t tell me to shut up. I’m three years older than you.” Morgana sniffed. “Plus, it’s rude.” 

“Sorry,” Arthur murmured, properly chastised. Morgana rewarded him with a smile and slipped one of her sausages to his plate. 

 

1.

“Gwen told me that Merlin’s going to be fine.” 

“Yes.” 

“Have you been down to see him?” 

Arthur nodded, not looking up from the sword he was trying to polish. The chill from the dungeons hadn’t left, despite the fact he was sitting in front of the fire with a robe over his shoulders. He kept shivering, and that had nothing to do with the fact that Merlin had nearly died. 

“I’m proud of you.” 

It warmed him. A little. 

“I’m serious, Arthur. You’re going to be a great king.” 

“But I wouldn’t have gone if…without you.” 

Morgana’s smirk was equal parts knowing and amused. “Then it’s a good thing I’m here, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Arthur said softly, still shaken from Merlin’s brush with his death, and his own near miss, and the blue ball of light, and his father’s cold eyes as he crushed the flower between his fingers. He’d been willing to crush the life right out of Merlin’s body, and Arthur would have sacrificed his own life to stop Uther from such a cold act. All that was racing through his mind, distracting him from keeping up the carefully crafted defenses. “It is. Morgana, I…”

0

“I love you,” Arthur whispered to the weeping girl, trying the words for the first time in his life. He’d never told anybody else he loved them. It wasn’t something he’d ever say to his father, and who else in Camelot was worthy of a prince’s love? As far as Arthur could remember, nobody had ever said it to him, either. He wasn’t even sure how the words were supposed to sound, but they fit well together. “Don’t cry, Morgana. Please don’t cry.” 

“I haven’t got anybody in the world.” 

“You’ve got me.” 

“No, I haven’t. You _hate_ me.” 

“No, I don’t. I don’t hate you at all.” 

“You hate me. You pushed me down.” 

“You stomped on my foot! But anyway, I promise I don’t. Morgana, it’ll be okay. Everything will be okay.” 

“I’m so scared, Arthur. I want to go home.” 

“You don’t have to be scared,” Arthur whispered fiercely. “I’ll protect you.” 

“You’re only seven.” 

“I won’t be seven forever. But _please_ stop crying.”

“Will you always love me? Do you promise?” 

“Yes.” 

The answer echoed down through the years, and Arthur never forgot his promise. Even when he fled from her army.


End file.
